Page 11 of The Falconer

Oh, aye. Killed a faery. My fifth this week.

I clear my throat. ‘Quite.’

Dona unbuttons more, then pauses. ‘Begging your pardon, my lady, but was this ribbon here before? I don’t remember—’

‘I added it,’ I reply quickly. ‘If you could undo my corset, I can remove the rest myself.’

In my exhaustion I had completely forgotten about the ribbon. Even the most discreet lady’s maid might panic at the sight of my shredded bodice and injuries. I’m just lucky the blood hasn’t seeped through. I am quite a skilled liar if the occasion calls for it, but even I would struggle to explain that.

Dona hesitates, but says, ‘Very well.’ She finishes with the buttons and begins unlacing my corset. ‘I was wondering: have you noticed any mice about?’

‘No. Do we have an infestation?’

‘Not . . . precisely.’ Dona leans forward to whisper, ‘I’ve heard scratching, my lady. From your dressing room.’

‘Really,’ I reply drily. If only that were mice.

‘And I thought I heard singing,’ she mutters, low enough that she might have been speaking to herself.

‘Singing?’ I go entirely still and cold crawls up my spine.

‘It’s nothing,’ she says quickly. ‘I’m sure I imagined it.’

I swallow hard. ‘All the same, I’ll have MacNab inspect my dressing room tomorrow.’

I’m tempted to give her a handful of notes – enough to last until she finds a new position – and tell her to get the hell out of my house and never come back to Edinburgh. Nay, Scotland.

Dona finishes unlacing my corset. ‘Just watch for the faeries,’ she says with laughter in her voice. ‘My auld-mother used to tell me they sometimes reside in closets and dressing rooms.’

I heard stories of faeries myself when I was wee. No bairn in Scotland is raised without them, or without a healthy measure of superstition.

But they have always been presented as nightmarish tales, certainly never as fact. Catherine’s brother used to tease us with stories, tell us to sleep with one eye open lest the faeries nab us from our beds. Eventually, I stopped believing in such nonsense. Until I learned that all the stories are true.

There are other Scots who still believe the fae to be real, but they’re becoming fewer in number. Very few humans are able to perceive the fae, and believers have been whittled away by the Church of Scotland’s attempts to denounce beliefs they consider uncultured. Even still, faeries persist as children’s stories in this country.

‘What else did she say?’ I can’t help but ask.

‘The fae will complete every task you’ve ever dreamed,’ Dona says, ‘in exchange for your soul. That I should always keep iron on my person, for protection.’

I swallow. I wish I could tell her that iron doesn’t work, it never has. That I nearly died once because I believed it would protect me. ‘Well, that’s just silly, isn’t it?’

‘It is indeed,’ Dona murmurs hesitantly. I’ve no doubt she half-believes her grandmother’s tales. She steps aside. ‘Will you be needing anything else?’

‘No, thank you. Goodnight.’

I close the door after her and wait until her footsteps fade down the hall. ‘Derrick,’ I tell the empty room. ‘Get the hell out of that dressing room.’

The door swings open and slams against the wall. The faint taste of spices and gingerbread settles on my tongue a moment before a ball of light, no bigger than the size of my palm, barrels out of the dressing room.

Chapter 6

‘What a silly little baggage,’ Derrick says. ‘What would I do with a soul?’

Despite his size, Derrick’s voice is as deep and masculine as a man’s. He flies over my work table and settles on a piece of scrap metal. The light around him fades to reveal a small, handsome creature with an elfin nose, pale skin and a patch of dark hair atop his head. Thin, translucent wings stick out from his lawn shirt and frame his tiny body. A muslin bag hangs from his shoulder and rests on his hip.

Derrick resides in my dressing room, where he mends my clothes for the price of a bowl of honey a day. Although sometimes he does the exact opposite ofmend. I recognise the fabric of his black trousers from one of the mourning dresses I neglected to throw out weeks ago.

‘Her fears aren’t completely groundless. Your faery brethren do appear to enjoy consuming—’ I hesitate, not wanting to offend him. He’s small, but he can make quite a mess if he feels insulted.

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